


The Miscellaneous Adventures of the Omega Pirate Assassin (And His Children)

by TorunnSays412



Series: The Life Adventures of the Omega Pirate Assassin (And His Children) [6]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Character Death, Mentions of Rape, Miscarriage, Multi, Stillbirth, tags to be updated as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-02-10 17:22:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18664936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TorunnSays412/pseuds/TorunnSays412
Summary: *Various stories set within the OPA universe*There are many more adventures to tell from the Kenway family and beyond. Let's share them . . .





	1. Black Skies Change Into Blue

**Author's Note:**

> I had too many ideas still floating around in my head for this so I have decided to continue with this. Updated whenever I complete a new story, it will expand upon the previous fics to include points of view from new characters, old characters - basically anything that draws my attention. 
> 
> First up - Desmond meeting his father.  
> "Desmond has met his father exactly once in his entire life."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from Sea Wolf's "Dear Fellow Traveler"

Desmond has met his father exactly once in his entire life. 

The first time he went to London, in fact.

After Edward died, the guilt of never seeing his mother’s birthplace finally got to him. Edward had always said they would go, always under the purpose of tying up loose ends from when Tessa had died, and Linette had passed. Edward technically even held property there, and now it’s fallen to Desmond because none of his brothers would have been able to do anything with it. 

So a few months after they bury Edward, he goes to Malik and pleads with him for some sort of mission that would bring him to London. 

“You could just go,” Malik tells him as he digs through his desk for something. 

“Then I would feel bad for leaving you,” Desmond says without thinking, and Malik glares at him. Desmond smirks. 

“I miss when you were a toddler that couldn’t speak Spanish,” Malik mutters to himself as he finally unearths a stack of letters. “Take these to the Frye twins, then. They’ll know who you are because of Haytham.”

“Thank you, Malik.”

Malik waves his hand for him to leave, and Desmond does so without further complaint. 

He books passage on a ship a few days later, leaving the house in the care of Darim, the only nephew currently there. When he has to leave, it will pass to one of his brothers, but Desmond trusts any of them because Altair will keep them in line. 

When he finally docks in London, Evie Frye is waiting for him. She tilts her head, her hood pushed back, and watches him before she finally approaches him. 

“Desmond?” she says, and he nods. “Evie Frye, pleasure to meet you.” She shakes his hand firmly. 

She starts to lead him through the city, pointing out landmarks, asking him about his trip. “Jacob wanted to be here, but something came up last minute. He should be back in a few hours. Until then, I thought I would show you around?”

“Actually,” Desmond pauses to drag an address out of his bag, “could you take me here?”

After glancing at the paper, she nods. If she’s surprised at it, Evie shows no indication of it, only turns to lead them in another direction. 

It’s midday, and Desmond is exhausted from the trip and wants nothing more than to crawl into a bed that  _ won’t  _ rock with the waves, but this is something he wants to do now. 

The house Linette Kenway died in is dilapidated, graying with age. It’s obvious no one lives there, but Edward - and then Desmond - had kept up payments to keep the house clean enough. 

“She lived and died there, Desmond. Jaysus, it doesn’t feel right to just sell it to a stranger. I couldn’t make it to the funeral, this is least I can do for her,” Edward told him once.

Edward hadn’t wanted to sell it, not when he couldn’t be there in person to do so. And Desmond had felt the same - he couldn’t bear to sell the property until he had actually seen it. 

Evie falls silent as Desmond stares at the house, then finally digs out the key from his pocket. He unlocks the door, pushing it open and wincing as it creaks angrily. 

He waves her forward when she hesitates by the fence, and she slowly follows him into the house. 

It’s dark, chilly. The furniture - what hasn’t been sold already, from when Haytham had been here - is covered in white sheets that have turned gray with dust. Haytham had taken the time to go through and send things to Edward, the ones that Linette would have wanted to stay with him. The rest he was given permission to sell or donate, as long as it went to someone; it seems there were some things he hadn’t been able to get rid of before he had left for the colonies. 

“It’s my grandmother’s,” Desmond tells Evie as she goes to stand next to the window. It’s covered with thick curtains that cough up dust when she twitches them to the side to let in light. “And when my mother died, it passed on to me, and I don’t know what to do with it.”

Evie bites her lip, looking around. “I remember Haytham saying he had family matters to take care of while he was here,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “Was this what he meant?”

“Yeah, he was supposed to empty the house. Mother always planned to come back and sell it himself, but he never found the time.”

She hums, and as he moves further into the house to look at the bedrooms she glances around. “Well, do you want to sell it?” she asks as he pushes open the door to Edward’s bedroom. The bed is still here - Altair had told him that he had had to share with Edward and Ezio, the one time he visited, because the only other bed was the one Linette slept in - but the dresser was gone. 

“I don’t think anyone will buy it in this condition,” he admits, grimacing as he turns away from the grimy bedroom. What had they been paying for all these years? It’s cleaner than it could be, yes, but it’s a miracle he hasn’t suffocated on the dust yet. 

Evie appears behind him, and it’s only years of living with Assassins that keeps him from jumping. “I think we could use it,” she says, and he blinks. 

“Who?”

“Us, the Assassins,” she clarifies. “We could use it as a safe house. You wouldn’t believe how often my Assassins get in trouble and need to lie low for a little while. They normally just leave the city for a few days, but this is far enough out that they would be safe.”

“Are you sure you want it?” Desmond asks warily, looking around. 

She scoffs. “They don’t need luxury if they’re hiding out. If you’re willing, we would gladly put it to use.”

Desmond thinks about it, but in the end he doesn’t really have a decision to make. “Mother would have liked that,” he finally says. “It being put to use, especially by the Assassins. I will happily give it to you.”

“Excellent,” Evie says, offering her hand. He shakes it, smiling. “It’s a deal. We’ll figure out the specifics later.” She follows him out of the house and waits as he locks the door again. She glances at the sky and says, “My brother is probably back now. Do you want to see anything else, or head straight there?”

He takes one last look at the house, then waves her ahead. “Let’s go. I want to meet Jacob, I’ve heard so much about him from Haytham.”

“Oh, no,” Evie moans, tilting her head back. “I don’t even want to know what Haytham has told you.”

He laughs as he follows her. 

According to Haytham, when he was still in London, the Assassins didn’t have a central base. They were scattered around and outside of the city, just trying to survive the onslaught of Templars arriving. Haytham’s appearance helped because he was vicious and calculated, and with the help of the other Assassins they managed to break down the Templar control. 

After he left, the Fryes stepped up because all the older Assassins had set out to the other countries, or had died. Henry Green joined them, using his prior experience in London to help them.  They were the only ones who felt comfortable taking over, with Haytham gone. They built up a central base for the three of them to work out of, but they had realized quickly it was smart to also keep the Assassins spread out to make it harder for the Templars to wipe them all out once. 

The building they had bought is in central London, and Henry ran the shop downstairs to bring in extra money and protect the Assassins. The store is closed when they arrive, but Evie bypasses the front door and goes to the back, where she unlocks that door and leads him up a flight of stairs.

The stairs open up to a hallway, where there are four closed doors and an additional staircase leading up another flight. Evie goes straight for the door in front of them, pushing it open to let the previously muffled voices ring out. 

Jacob is sitting in a chair, his coat pushed off and sitting on the floor. His arm is held out straight, letting Henry clean and bandage a deep cut on the forearm while he holds a bottle of liquor in his other hand. He looks up when they enter, roguish smile crossing his face at the sight of them. 

“Hello, my dear sister!” he says, raising the bottle to her. Then he points to Desmond, bottle slipping a bit as his fingers move. “You must be Desmond. You don’t look like Haytham, though.”

“I look more like Altair,” Desmond responds automatically, then shakes his head. “Anyways, Haytham looks more like his father than anyone else.”

Evie sighs as she steps around Desmond and sheds her own coat to drape it over an empty chair. “What happened, Jacob?”

“Oh, the target caught me by surprise is all,” he says, hissing through his teeth as Henry swipes at his arm roughly. “Oi, could you be a little gentler?”

“I wouldn’t have to be doing this at all if you could just not get injured, you know,” Henry retorts. 

Evie stalks over and grabs the bottle from her brother, smacking his shoulder when he tries to sit up and grab it back. “How much have you had?”

“Only a little -”

“Half the bottle,” Henry cuts in, leaning back as he finishes tying off the bandage. 

“Oi! You weren’t supposed to tell her!”

“Your sister is not stupid, she saw that same bottle this morning,” Henry tells him, getting up to dispose of the bloody cloths. 

“You’re cut off,” Evie says, handing the bottle back to Henry as he leaves the room. He takes it and smiles at Desmond warmly when he passes. “Take a seat, Desmond, you must be exhausted.”

There’s a table in the middle of the room, with a couple chairs surrounding it. There’s a bookcase against the wall with the door, and then a set of armchairs in front of the windows on the opposite wall. Desmond takes one of the chairs at the table, setting his bag at his feet.

Evie falls into the chair beside her brother, settling back with a sigh. Jacob sits up a little, watching as Desmond leans back in his own chair. “What made you decide to finally come to London?” Jacob asks. 

“Officially? I have documents to deliver from Malik. Unofficially? To figure out what to do with my grandmother’s house,” Desmond responds. He leans down to dig out the papers he had rolled up and shoved towards the bottom, finally dragging them out. He sets them on the table, and Jacob wrinkles his nose. 

“Well, thanks,” Jacob says. “Evie can take those.”

Evie rolls her eyes, but makes no move to stand and grab them, so Desmond leaves them where they are. “We stopped at the house after he arrived,” she tells Jacob. “He’s willing to pass it over to us as a safehouse.” 

Jacob hums, nodding, and they spend the next few minutes figuring out the details. It’s decided that Desmond will retain ownership of the property - Desmond Stephenson-Oakley, his legal name, has no relation to the Assassin Brotherhood, and as such is safe to stay on the title - but Evie and Jacob will take over any payments that pertain to the property. 

With that finished, they lapse into softer topics, getting to know each other. They know the basics, thanks to Haytham, but they spend the time going deeper. They talk about their parents, the Assassins, missions they had gone on. Desmond, over the years, has completed several missions for his brother and his husband - he’s not officially an Assassin, but he has all the skills of one. 

Finally, Jacob and Desmond are starting to nod off, one induced by drink and the other by travel exhaustion, and Evie stands suddenly, drawing their attention and forcing awareness into them. “Come, then, time for bed,” she says, grabbing Jacob’s arm and dragging him up, then beckoning Desmond to follow. 

Jacob pulls his arm from her grasp and stumbles out the door, making his way up to the third floor. Evie and Desmond follow, and Evie points out Desmond’s room. 

“Henry will wake early tomorrow to open the store, but breakfast will be saved for whenever you wake up. The kitchen is in the back of the store, so just go down whenever you’re ready. Jacob will probably still be asleep, but I have errands to run so you may not see me until later that evening.”

“Thanks, Evie,” Desmond says around a yawn. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, Desmond.”

He closes the door behind her and barely remembers to take off his shoes before he collapses into bed and drags the blankets up around his shoulders. He’s asleep in moments. 

He wakes up long after the sun has risen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and grimacing as he realizes he slept in his clothes. 

He takes the time to wash his face and change - he’d have to ask about bathing later, traveling by ship is not clean - and then finds his way to the kitchen. He can hear Henry talking to a customer in the front, but he goes instead for breakfast, which turns out to be bread and jam, some fruit, and some fresh eggs that he could cook up. 

He decides to stick with the bread and jam and eats two slices slowly, yawning occasionally. Then he cleans everything up and heads out to greet Henry. 

“Need any help?” he asks, seeing Henry is organizing a bookshelf. 

“Oh, no, thank you,” Henry says, smiling. “I’m almost done here.”

Desmond looks around as Henry finishes up, glancing at figurines, rare fabrics, pillows, books. “This is quite the collection you have,” he comments, tearing his gaze from a Greek-inspired vase. 

“Well, I have contacts around the world,” Henry replies, stepping back from the books. “Your brother has sent us some things over the years, as well.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Malik and Altair are very good at supplying us. Haytham and Connor as well.” Henry comes back to the counter, standing beside Desmond. “Evie should be back within the hour, and there will be a meeting later on with all the higher Assassins. You may not be official, but your family boosts your status among us. The Fryes would like you to attend, if you would. Your point of view could really help us.”

“Oh. I guess I could come, I don’t really have anything else to do.” Desmond shrugs. 

“You can help me watch the store until then.”

In the time before the store closes, Desmond watches as Assassins file in one by one, their hoods down around their shoulders, and head up the stairs. Jacob comes to drag Desmond away, leaving Henry to close up, and Desmond stands next to the twins as the Assassins sit in the larger sitting room, filled with mismatched sofas and chairs. 

One man arrives shortly before Henry does. He isn’t wearing robes, only a coat that he shrugs off when he sits. There is something oddly familiar in his profile, but Desmond is able to ignore it - he doesn’t know anyone in London, how could he have meet this man before? - until the other man meets his gaze and his eyes widen. 

“Oh, shit,” Desmond mutters, and Evie glances at him curiously. “Who’s that?”

“William?” she asks, looking in that direction. “Do you know him?”

“Has he ever had a mission in Italy? Do you know?”

“Possibly? He worked with my father, back when the London Assassins were more active. It’s very possible. Why?”

“Look at him, then look at me.”

She does so, eyes narrowed a little, and then suppresses a gasp. “You think - ?”

“Mother never told me his last name, so I can’t be sure, but you have to admit the resemblance speaks for itself.” Desmond leans back against the wall, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. 

He misses most of the meeting, acting like he’s paying attention. He gives his input when Evie or Jacob nudges him to, explaining how the Spanish or Italian approach problems, what problems Malik or Ezio had faced over the years as Mentors. For the most part, he just watches as reports are given and new assignments are handed out. 

When Evie closes the meeting, and the Assassins begin to leave, Desmond is dismayed to realize William is still there, watching him. When only the twins and Henry remain, William stands and approaches Desmond. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, but you said your name is Desmond? What’s your surname?”

“Legally, it’s none of your business,” Desmond says - he won’t spread Tessa’s name, he wouldn’t do that Edward. “But my mother was Edward Kenway.”

William pales. Desmond glances at the window, briefly considering throwing himself out it to avoid this conversation. 

Henry glances between them, but Evie shakes her head, grabbing his arm and her brother’s and bringing them to the other side of the room to give them some privacy. 

Desmond thinks back to what Edward had said of his father, but he remembers very little of it. Edward rarely spoke of the circumstances of Desmond’s birth, and his brothers had never met the man to offer any insight. Over time, he had stopped caring, because he had his brothers and Malik to act as his father, teaching him anything that Edward couldn’t - or wouldn’t. 

“I can see the resemblance,” William finally says. “Do you know - “

“If you had a mission in Italy in 1738, I have to imagine you’re my father, yes,” Desmond says, feeling no regret as William flinches. This man didn’t want him - Desmond doesn’t want him either. 

“I always wondered, but I never sought the truth of the aftermath of that night,” William says, face pinched. 

“And I always wondered why I didn’t have a father when all my brothers did, but guess what? I survived just fine without you. Mother rarely even spoke of you, but one thing I do remember him saying is that there are two types of fathers. The ones like Giovanni, and Umar, who would do anything for their children, including sacrificing themselves. And then there’s the ones like you.”

Desmond realizes he may have some pent up feelings about his lack of a father when the words leave his mouth. Evie is staring at him wide-eyed, abandoning the pretence of a conversation with the other two. Henry is purposely looking down at mission reports, but he isn’t reading them. Jacob is blatantly staring, cheeks red. 

“You may have been young, but so was my mother when he found himself pregnant in the West Indies. Umar was young when he stepped up to be a father to my oldest brother. Giovanni was already married, but he took care of Ezio and my mother as if it was nothing. All my brothers knew the love of a mother and father from the moment they were born, except for me. I had an uncle, brothers, cousins, but I never had a father. And that’s on you for telling my mother not to contact you, for abandoning me before me I was even born. 

“Do you know what my mother went through? He was still grieving the loss of his wife when he met you. He already had three children to raise on his own, and you left him with a newborn that he tried to love twice as much to make up for your absence. It hurt him when I asked why I didn’t have a father. It haunted him until the day he died, even if he never said so.”

Desmond realizes his chest is heaving, fists clenched, and he forces himself to step back and close his eyes. “You may have provided to my conception, but I will never call you my father, and I wouldn’t want to. I am sorry my mother felt any guilt towards not telling you, because if you thought about him and didn’t bother to contact him, I don’t want to know you anyways.”

He leaves William standing there, mouth open in shock, and hides inside his borrowed bedroom, hands shaking as he tries to calm himself down. He sits on the bed, staring down at his hands, and feels lighter than he has in years. 

A few moments later, there’s a soft knock on the door. “It’s us, Desmond,” Evie says quietly. 

Desmond sighs. “You can come in.”

Evie and Jacob push open the door and slowly enter, glancing at each other before deciding to sit on either side of him on the bed. “If we had known, we wouldn’t have asked you to come,” Jacob says.

Desmond barks out a laugh. “I didn’t even know, how could you? But thanks.”

“How are you feeling?” Evie asks. 

“I didn’t realize how much I had bottled up until he was standing in front of me,” Desmond responds softly. “I had so many people surrounding me, I didn’t realize until now how hard I had taken not having a father as a child.”

“We know something about having - a difficult father,” Evie says carefully. Jacob snorts. “We didn’t have a mother, and were raised by our grandmother until Father took over to train us. He loved us, but he could never really …”

“He could never look at us and not remember our mother,” Jacob finishes. “So we were treated more as novices than his biological children.”

“What I’m trying to say is, sometimes we have to remember the people who were in our lives, and not the ones who weren’t. I miss our father, but it was the death of Grandmother that really hurt. For you, you were lucky in that you had so many additional people to love you. And in the end, neither of us would choose a different upbringing, would we?” Evie says calmly. 

“You’re right,” Desmond says finally. “When William dies, I won’t mourn him as a son mourns his father, but I will mourn the possibility of his being my father if he had stepped up when I was a child. But my brothers - they all mourned their fathers because they loved them, and were loved by them. I will instead mourn my brothers, Malik, my mother, because they gave me the love I needed. Part of me had already known that, but having your perspective helps a little.”

“And you’re always welcome here,” Jacob says. “We knew Haytham first, but secretly, I like you better.”

Desmond laughs. Evie nudges his shoulder. “We’re serious, though. If you ever need someone who isn’t related to you, we’re here.”

“Thanks.” Desmond smiles. “On an unrelated note, can I take a bath?”

Evie giggles and Jacob roars with laughter, and Desmond’s shoulders loosen. He didn’t expect for him to feel so accepted here, but Evie and Jacob are easy to talk to. Maybe he’ll stay just a little bit longer, and get to know this country that his family is so attached to. 


	2. There's No Remedy for Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik has never been alone - he has always had someone by his side, whether it was his mother, father, brother, or Altair. And when he feels he's lost it all - Altair is still there, waiting for him to come back to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Miscarriage, stillbirth, character death
> 
> So I've wanted to write something from Malik's pov for a while - he had such a big part in the original stories, it felt wrong not to look at what he was thinking? And over the few days I was writing this (in between cleaning theaters at work, I'm a great multi tasker) it morphed into looking into his relationship with his mother (a little). So, in honor of Mother's Day, I have decided to post this instead of waiting even though I still don't think it's perfect.
> 
> Title from Lana Del Ray's "Dark Paradise"

Malik’s only constant in life is Altaïr. They were born only weeks apart, grew up together, and even when Altaïr had vanished in the night and turned up in Italy, they still wrote to each other consistently. 

His mother died young. His father died only a few years later. Even his brother died too soon. But Altaïr is too stubborn to die. When he was younger Malik was half convinced he would outlive them all out of pure spite.

When that disastrous mission for the Apple came to its conclusion, when Malik stood in front of Al Mualim and dropped the artifact on his desk, eyes blazing with anger for his lost brother, there was heartbreak too. 

Heartbreak because somewhere along the way, he had lost his best friend and hadn’t realized until it was too late. 

It’s moments like these that he misses his mother the most. His father was killed on a mission, but he had grown up knowing he could lose his father in a single breath. His mother was the one who was there every second, the woman who took Altaïr in without a second thought, and losing her had seemed impossible as a child. 

He remembers the day they lost her as vividly as he remembers losing Kadar. 

They had been outside. Malik had been hanging the laundry out to dry for Alima, being helpful on a rare day off from training. Altaïr had been sprawled in the grass behind him, soaking in the sun with his eyes closed, and Kadar had been chasing - a cat? Malik thinks it was a cat - under the watchful eye of their mother. 

He remembers her sudden alarmed cry, the grimace on her face as he whipped around to look at her, dropping the clean sheet he had been hanging. It drags through the dirt on the ground, and any other day he would have been scolded but there is something like panic on Alima’s face as her hand falls to her belly. 

It’s too early for the baby to be coming, so something is obviously wrong. He doesn’t know what to do as he drops to his knees next to his mother, gripping her hand tightly. He slips from Arabic into Spanish, then back to Arabic, repeatedly asking what’s wrong when she doesn’t respond. 

“Get your father,” she finally manages to say, and Malik doesn’t want to leave as he hears the pain embedded in her Arabic. Altaïr is suddenly beside him, face pale, and he touches Malik’s shoulder. 

“He’s too far,” he says quietly, and Malik swallows. “He’s in that meeting with the Mentor, remember?”

“Mama, what do we do? Do you need a doctor?”

She gasps, shaking her head. “No, no, take me inside and get your father.” She’s insistent, so Malik has no choice but to help her stand. He feels nauseous when he sees blood on the grass, previously hidden by her skirts.

This is wrong. 

Altaïr helps him lay his mother on her bed, and Kadar stands in the doorway with tears in his eyes. “Mama?” he asks, confused by the flurry of movement after such a lazy morning, but she can’t respond as a scream is nearly ripped from her mouth. Altaïr scoops him up quickly, taking him from the room as Alima squeezes Malik’s hand tightly. 

“Faheem,” she says again, “I need Faheem.” 

“Mama, I can’t - “ 

“Get him!”

He steps outside to where Altaïr is with Kadar. “She needs a doctor, Malik. Your father can’t do anything for her. She needs help.”

“I know that!” Malik snaps, ignoring his brother’s flinch at his tone. “But she won’t relent!”

“My mother should be at home, stop there and tell him before getting your father. Mamá can help, he always does.”

Malik has no choice but to comply as he hears his mother sob behind him in the house, and he takes off running for Altaïr’s home. 

By the time he finds his father, he’s worked himself into quite the panic. He can barely speak as he grabs his father’s hand and tries to drag him away from the Assassin he is speaking to, and his brain is stuck in Arabic. The Assassin is Spanish, and doesn’t speak the language, and Malik should try and switch to be polite but he can’t form the words. 

“Malik! What are you - “

“Mama needs help! Something’s wrong, Baba!” 

Faheem’s face changes abruptly, and he takes off for home, leaving Malik to catch up. By the time Malik does, he’s already in the house, and Malik stops next to Altaïr and Edward, panting for breath. 

Edward’s face is grave, holding Kadar in his lap as he tries to soothe the boy. Altaïr sits at his feet, tracing lines in the dirt. Malik sits next to him, knowing he won’t be allowed back in the house until Alima’s better. 

When the midwife and the doctor step out, blood on their hands and sorrow in their eyes, Malik screams his heartbreak into the world. Edward pulls him close as Altaïr wraps an arm around his shoulder, and Malik cries for a very long time. 

It’s his father who explains it to him. He hadn’t been able to listen while the doctor told Edward what happened, clutching Altaïr as he sobbed into his best friend’s neck. Alima had suffered a miscarriage, and by the time the doctor had arrived she had lost too much blood. The baby was stillborn, a little sister that Malik would never know, and his mother had died not long after. 

Edward takes Malik and Kadar with him when he goes home with Altaïr, and the brothers stay with him and Umar while Faheem takes care of funeral arrangements and cleans the house. Altaïr shares his bed with Malik and Kadar, the three of them squished together in a bed made for one, Kadar settled between the two so he won’t fall in the middle of the night. 

Malik holds Altaïr’s hand when they bury Alima, sniffling, eyes bloodshot and rimmed with red. That’s the last time he cries for a very long time. 

Bureaus weren’t common in Spain until Al Mualim took over for the previous Mentor, and in the process brought his best with him from the area surrounding Masyaf. The Assassin fortress had long been abandoned, but the Assassin presence still existed in the cities that still held bureaus. The Assassin traditions that prevailed in the Ottoman Empire had died out in the rest of the world, until Al Mualim brought them back in Spain. 

Malik’s position as a  _ rafiq  _ is endlessly frustrating at first. He’s still learning to navigate life with only one arm, learning his new duties, mourning his brother. He doesn’t have time to think about what Altaïr did, or the sudden absence of him when he has been beside him for so long. 

He focuses on maps. The old  _ rafiq  _ had neglected to update the maps as carefully as he should have, resulting in old ones with streets or buildings that don’t even exist anymore. Malik takes the time to update them going off of his memory and what is brought to him. It occupies him, is enough to take his mind off his situation. 

It’s through the maps that he takes out his anger and frustration when Altaïr walks in all those weeks later, wide-eyed and panicked at the sight of him behind the desk. Everything he had been repressing comes surging back up to stick in his throat, choking him at the sight of his (former?) best friend.

He sends him on his way, and puts his energy back into his maps. 

The few days Altaïr is present pass like this: gruff, short exchanges, with thinly veiled anger on Malik’s part; awful, guilt-soaked ones on Altaïr’s part.

When he finally leaves, Malik locks himself in his room after closing the bureau and screams into his pillow until his voice is hoarse, his remaining hand itching to punch, to claw, to do anything physical. It’s a long time before he calms down again, and then he just sits. 

Staring at the wall, his hand, thinking through everything that had happened and sorting through his emotions. For the first time in his life, he has no one at his back. Even when he felt like his world was falling down around him, Altaïr had been there, silent as a shadow and as ever-present as one. 

He’s not sure if he will ever forgive Altaïr, but he’s back on the path to working with the man civilly. At this point, that’s all he can ask for.

//

The thing is. 

The thing is, Malik has been half in love with Altaïr all his life. 

And while he burns with hatred - that same love simmers beneath it, just waiting to be stoked back to life. 

//

It takes him a long time to look beyond the past. 

Altaïr is no longer the same man he was during that mission. He is closer to the boy that Malik grew up with than he has been in years, and Malik hadn’t realized how much he had missed him until that boy came back to him. 

Everything is clear now. Al Mualim had shaped Altaïr into his own personal weapon, fueled by twisted praise and hasty promotions. Without his father to protect him, and his mother to guide him, Altaïr had been led off the path he was meant to be on by a man he should have been able to trust. 

Malik feels sick at the thought of everything Al Mualim had done over the years, everything that he should have been able to stop but couldn’t because he was taught to trust the Mentor above all else. 

He will spend the rest of his life making up for it - just like Altaïr will spend the rest of his making up for that one mission. 

Malik can forgive this Altaïr, because this Altaïr would never allow a repeat of that mission to occur. This is the Altaïr that he bickers with over menial tasks, the one who has given him a beautiful son. This is the boy he had fallen in love with as a child, the one who had held his heart from the moment he was old enough to know what love was. 

Malik can clearly hear his mother’s voice in his head, scolding him for his actions. She adored Altaïr, and he can’t help but wonder what would have changed had she lived to see them now.

When Darim is two, old enough to just barely begin growing into his own face, Malik looks at him and sees Alima in his eyes, Altaïr in his face.  

Altaïr softens when he tells him this, but shakes his head. “He looks like you, Malik,” he says, “Not me.”

Malik disagrees. Darim shares Altaïr’s lighter skin tone, his hair color. Malik knows his eyes come from his side of the family - no one in Altaïr’s family has eyes so dark - but when he looks at his child he only sees Altaïr and his mother. It breaks his heart that Alima will never see her grandson.

He takes Darim to his mother’s grave. Her name is etched into the stone, and Malik’s stillborn sister is unnamed but memorialized below Alima’s as her daughter. They had buried them together, rather than give the baby a plot of her own. 

He pulls Darim into his lap, sitting near the grave and studying the lines etched into the stone. His father had chosen Arabic, instead of Spanish, and Malik appreciates that choice now as he holds his son. 

“Baba, what are we doing?” Darim asks, wiggling to get comfortable against Malik’s chest. 

“I wanted to show you something. This is your grandmother’s - my mother’s - grave. She died when I was young.” 

Darim isn’t old enough to fully understand death, but Malik knows he has to do this. There is always the chance that Darim could lose them - Altaïr is pregnant again, and Malik lives with the knowledge that he could lose his husband in a heartbeat because of it. They both still go on missions, even if it’s rare for Mailk to do so. 

He doesn’t want to leave his son without complete warning. He doesn’t want to leave him at all, but he is an Assassin at his core and must be practical about death. 

“She’s gone?” Darim asks, tilting his head to look at Malik. 

“Yes. I had her for many years, but then she had to go. She would have loved to meet you,  _ katkoot _ , and she would have loved you as much as Mama and I do. And even though she’s not here with us, she’s in our hearts and that keeps her alive.”

“I don’t want Mamá and Papá to leave.” Darim frowns, twisting to wrap his chubby arms around Malik’s neck. He’s slipping Spanish into his Arabic now. Malik doesn’t bother to correct him. Alima, when Kadar was born, had looked at Malik and smiled when his little brother had said his first word. 

“You know, your first word was ‘dijaja,’ and your second was ‘papá’ - you were so immersed in both Arabic and Spanish that you would begin in one and end in the other.”

“Why was my first word chicken?” 

Alima had shrugged. “You liked the chickens we kept at the time. Why do you think we call you  _ katkoot _ ?”

(Darim likes the chickens their neighbor owns. His first word wasn’t chicken, but it was close.)

Altaïr hadn’t tried to force Darim into speaking one language either. Malik had asked, once, if Altaïr wanted to do so, but Altaïr had snorted. “I have four brothers that all spoke a different language at their first word, I’m not even going to bother. They’ll figure it out once they’re older.”

“We won’t leave you,  _ katkoot,  _ not unless we are forced to. But if we do, just remember that we are in your heart, and always will be, just like Jadda is now.”

“Okay,” Darim says, and tucks his head into Malik’s neck. He falls quiet, and soon he falls asleep. Malik stays there for a few more minutes, then feels a hand touch his shoulder as Altaïr sinks down next to him. 

“Did you visit your father?” Malik asks him, eyes still on his mother’s name. Altaïr hums. 

“Briefly, yes. Do you think he understood what you were saying?”

Malik adjusts his arm to hold Darim closer and sighs. “I don’t know. But we’ll just keep telling him until he does.”

“Your mother would be so proud of you. You’re a good man, Malik.” Altaïr reaches to stroke his hand down Darim’s back, smiling as the little boy mumbles at his mother’s touch, snuggling deeper into his father’s chest. 

“I wouldn’t be without you in my life,” Malik says, and Altaïr rolls his eyes. 

“You were a good man before I was there,” he tells him. 

“How would we know? I was only alive for a few days before you were born. My whole life, you’ve been there.”

“Well, in those few days without me you were a good man all by yourself,” Altaïr says. 

“I was a baby!”

“And you were a good baby!”

Malik snorts, shaking his head. “You still won’t accept this, huh?” He manages to stand without waking Darim, and considers this an accomplishment. 

“Of course not. This is one argument you will not win,  _ habibi _ .” Altaïr pushes up to stand next to him and smiles, kissing his cheek. “Come on, we should put him to bed. And you still need to finish reading those mission reports.”

Malik sighs, and looks at Alima’s grave one last time, saying a silent goodbye before following his husband home.  _ Bahbk ya omy,  _ he thinks, clutching Darim closer.  _ I love you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arabic translations:  
> katkoot - chick (male) - a term of endearment for children  
> dijaja - hen  
> Jadda - grandmother  
> Mama and Baba - mom and dad  
> habibi - my love (male)  
> Bahbk ya omy - I love you mom  
> (If you speak Arabic, please let me know if these are incorrect - I did my best to thoroughly research everything because I only speak Spanish and English. I took an Arabic class in middle school, but that was almost ten years ago now so I can't confirm anything.)


	3. Always Knew the Melody, Never Heard the Rhyme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward's sick, Desmond's hungry, and Altair saves the day. 
> 
> From this prompt from inezblue:  
> "It's back with Desmond as a little kid. Edward is sick, but they're out of some food or something so Desmond decides to go to the market by himself to pick up the them. He's not supposed to do that. What he doesn't know is that Templars are planning an attack on the market and so Altair ends up being a complete badass and saving his little brother and it ends with them agreeing to keep it a secret from Edward. Edward finds out anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go inezblue! I hope you enjoy this chapter; sorry it took me so long to put it up, I had it written a while ago thanks to breaks in between movies at work, but life got so crazy so quick that I didn't have time to upload it. This was fun to write, because I loved little Desmond but didn't get to write a lot of him in the main stories, so I liked revisiting his childhood.
> 
> Title from Brandi Carlie's "The Mother"

"Mama, I'm hungry," Desmond says, tugging on the blanket covering Edward. His mother moans and rolls over, opening his eyes to look at him. 

"Baby, can't you check yourself? We should have some bread left. Mama doesn't feel well, okay?" His voice is hoarse, his nose stuffed. He had gotten Desmond up this morning and set him to reading, but then he had returned to bed with a headache and Desmond hadn't seen his mother the rest of the morning. 

Darim and Sef had been sick a few days ago. Edward had stayed with them because Altaïr had been out of town and Malik couldn't bring them to his office. It's no surprise that he isn't feeling well now. 

"Mama, we ate the bread for breakfast, remember?" 

Edward coughs, rolling onto his back and flinging an arm over his eyes. "Give me an hour and I'll run to the market, okay?" 

Desmond nods with a frown. Edward drifts off to sleep again. 

Desmond huffs, crossing his arms. His mother won't be getting up again - it had taken too long for him to wake him up in the first place. 

He leaves the room and closes the door, then heads to the kitchen. He has to climb on a chair, but he manages to reach the cabinets where he checks for anything he could make himself, but they really are out of nearly everything. There's half a bag of sugar, some flour, tea. All the bread is gone, there's no jam, eggs, or anything else. He could eat sugar, but Desmond wrinkles his nose when he thinks of the punishment that would come with.

He stumbles off the chair, putting it back at the table. Then he goes to Edward's desk where he digs around in the drawers until he finds the pouch of  _ reales _ . It's heavy, but he manages to tie it to his belt and goes to put his shoes on, then grabs a basket.

He knows the way to the market. He knows how to count money, and the vendors know his family. He will only be gone a little while; he'll be back before Edward wakes up. 

The sun is still high in the sky, the Spanish heat warm on his skin. Desmond follows a map in his head until he reaches the market, then he stands there to decide where to go first. 

The baker is closest, and he always gives Desmond a sweet bun when he comes. The farmer is further in, and he has fruits and vegetables and eggs. The general store has everything else they could need, but Desmond isn't sure how to get there from here because it's a few streets over so he walks to the baker first. 

"Hóla," Desmond says brightly, waving at the kind man. The baker's eyes widen.

"Desmond? Where is your mother, child?"

"Mama is sick," Desmond tells him. "I've come to buy some bread."

"Well, you're just in time. I'm almost out, but I've got a few good loaves left." The baker hands them over, and Desmond places the money - carefully counted - on the table. “And a treat - save one for your mother, alright?” The baker passes over two buns, and Desmond nods eagerly.  He tucks the bread into the basket, then smiles brightly and starts walking further into the market, passing stalls selling fabric, jewelry, pottery. 

He's two stalls away from the farmer when he hears his name called, and turns to see his brother stalking toward him. 

"Altaïr!" he says, smiling. "Look! I bought bread all by myself!"

"Desmond, where is Mother? You shouldn't be here by yourself, you know that." Altaïr crouches in front of him. The boys aren't with him, so they must be with Malik for the day. At least they're feeling better. 

"Mama's sick, and I was hungry." Desmond feels a pout coming that he tries to stop. 

There's a scream, and Desmond flinches so hard he nearly drops the basket. On the other side of the market, there is a woman selling beautiful pottery; across from her, a tall, well-dressed man holds a knife to her throat, teeth bared at her. The woman points a shaky hand towards - Desmond and Altaïr. 

The man turns to look, and a sharkish smile spreads across his face at the sight of them. There is a darkness in his eyes that Desmond can see even as far away as he is, and he feels terror at that look. Altaïr stands abruptly, hand falling to the throwing knives strapped to his belt. "Desmond, do exactly as I say. Run back to the baker, and then hide with him, okay? Do not come out until I come for you, do you understand?"

"But - " 

"Now, Desmond!" Altaïr snaps. Desmond listens, clutching the basket to his chest and running for the baker, who quickly stands aside to let Desmond hide under the table. 

He peeks under the cloth covering it to watch his brother, and sees Altaïr circling the man like a lion. 

"What are you doing here?" Altaïr spits at the man, and the - Templar? Maybe? - gives a smile that shows his teeth and chills Desmond to his core. 

"Why, I've come for you, of course," he says. "You and your family. Take you out, I bring down half the Brotherhood." 

"You can't touch them," Altaïr snarls, and launches forward into an attack. 

The battle is over within minutes. Even armed with only throwing knives and his hidden blade, Altaïr is one of the best Assassins in the world. The man doesn't stand a chance. 

He get a lucky swipe with his knife, cutting Altaïr's arm, but then Altaïr lunges forward and stabs him deep in the stomach, dragging it upwards, and the man collapses, face frozen in shock. 

Altaïr's chest is heaving, knife held in a blood stained hand. He stands there for a moment, then shakes himself off and turns toward the baker's stall, and Desmond quickly drops the cloth and curls up tight. 

By the time Altaïr crouches in front of him, his hands are clean. Desmond wonders where he washed them, but he gladly crawls into his brothers arms when he offers them. He's too big to be carried, but he's trembling and Altaïr doesn't complain as he stands and adjusts him in his arms. 

His brother stops to get a few more items, then Altaïr takes him home, and sets him down at the kitchen table. He makes Desmond a sandwich, then sits across from him. "You will not tell Mother about any of this, alright? If he asks, I stopped by and took you to the market myself. You were never by yourself."

"What about the man?" 

Altaïr sighs. "You didn't see that either, okay? Mother will lose his mind if he discovers any of this happened, so just keep quiet about it. This is our secret, okay?"

"Okay." 

Altaïr leaves soon after that, heading to talk to Malik. Desmond makes a sloppy sandwich for his mother, the jam oozing out the sides because he put too much, but it’s the only thing he can really make without assistance. 

"Mama," he whispers, perching the plate on the bed and climbing up to sit next to Edward. Edward mumbles, but opens his eyes when Desmond touches his shoulder. "Mama, I made you lunch."

"Thanks, Desmond," Edward croaks, rubbing his eyes. He sits up, bringing the plate closer. He eyes the sandwich dubiously, but he starts eating slowly,  as if afraid he may throw it up. Desmond hopes not. He hates throwing up; it's painful and gross and he doesn't want his mother to feel that. 

It's a long few moments of just chewing, until Edward places the plate on the bedside table and pulls the blankets up higher. Desmond crawls up to lay next to him, snuggling close and trying not to think of the man in the market. 

If Edward thinks it odd, he doesn't say anything, just pulls Desmond closer and closes his eyes. 

They pass the afternoon that way, taking a nap in the fading sunlight. Edward finally wakes around dinner time, and finds that Altaïr had stopped by with two bowls of soup - probably his own family's dinner - for them. 

"He stopped by earlier to check on us," Desmond supplied at his confused look, ignoring the guilt swirling in his stomach at lying to his mother. It isn’t technically a lie, right? Altaïr  _ did  _ stop by.  “He brought me to the market to pick up some things. Oh!” 

Desmond goes to the basket, unearthing the two sweet buns the baker had given him. “The baker wanted me to give you one, Mama! Maybe it will make you feel better.” Edward smiles, face still a little pale, and takes the bun from Desmond.

They eat in the kitchen, Edward finally feeling more like himself as he passes through the worst of the cold. 

"We'll go to the store tomorrow, okay? We really don't have anything, do we?" Edward says, frowning as he closes the cabinets after washing the dishes. 

"I told you, Mama," Desmond says, but the thought of going out doesn’t excite him as much as it normally does.

Edward eyes him, but doesn't say anything further. He helps Desmond with his schoolwork - not that Desmond actually goes to school, the Assassins train and teach their children themselves, but it's nice to sit with him in front of the fire for a few hours. 

It's when Edward tries to put Desmond to bed that it comes up. 

"Mama, why would bad people come for us?"

Edward frowns. "What are you talking about, Desmond?" 

"Just . . . who would want to hurt us? We don't do bad things, do we?"

"No, we don't, but why - did something happen?"

Desmond falls silent. Edward watches him. "Altaïr doesn't just stop by. Why was he really here?" 

Desmond keeps his mouth closed. "Desmond. If something happened, you better tell me." 

// 

" _ What happened at the market _ ?" 

Altaïr closes his eyes, drops his head. Thank God the children are in bed already. He was just about to join Malik in bed as well, but he had wanted to finish up a mission report. "That didn't last long." 

"Altaïr,  _ what happened _ ?" Edward's tone is iron, non-negotiable. 

Altaïr tells him. After all, if it had been his own sons he would have wanted to know. And ever since Edward had come home from the West Indies, he had never been able to say no to him, an effect of never wanting to upset his mother, and even decades later he's unable to break the habit. 

//

The next morning Desmond wakes to find his mother sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in his hands. 

"We need to talk about yesterday," Edward says. He gestures to the plate of breakfast and Desmond sits. 

"You know what you did was wrong," Edward says. Desmond nods. "I know you were trying to do a good thing, but you didn't tell me where you were going, and if you had gotten hurt I wouldn't have known. Next time, just let me know, okay?" 

"Okay, Mama," Desmond says dutifully, nodding. 

Edward smiles. "You're a good boy, Desmond. Just, don't do anything I wouldn't do, okay?"

"I can be a pirate?" Desmond asks excitedly and Edward pales. 

"No, no, I take it back, don't do anything Altaïr wouldn't do, how about that?"

"Oh. But Altaïr is so boring, all he does is go on missions and be with his family."

Edward throws his head back and laughs. "Oh, kid, you'll realize soon that your brother is anything but. That, however, is a story for another day."


	4. This Race is A Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward has a realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, I had this written back in May, but this summer was crazy with family and travel and I never got the chance to clean it up. Now school has started again and I dug this out, and while I'm not fully happy with it I decided to post it anyways because there are parts I enjoy. 
> 
> Title from Woodkid's "Run Boy Run".

Altaïr is a week old when Edward realizes  - Umar's native language is Arabic. When he isn't paying attention, he slips into it, forgetting Edward can only speak Spanish and English. 

He is surrounded by Spanish speakers - they are in Spain - but the Assassins that rebuilt the Brotherhood came from the Ottoman Empire. There are just as many Arabic speakers. 

"Shit," he breathes, staring at his son. "I need to learn Arabic."

He had only picked up a few words and phrases - Umar caught himself most of the time, and spoke mostly Spanish or English at home. Alima was the same, although she cooed in Arabic to baby Malik. 

But that isn't fair to Altaïr. He doesn't want his son to be ignorant of his heritage, and it's not fair to Umar if Altaïr learns English - his mother's native tongue - only for them to ignore his father's. And he won’t teach his son a language he can’t speak - what if Altaïr needs his help, but can only say it in Arabic?

Umar had gone out to buy food. He’s only gone a little while, and when he comes back he finds Edward sitting at the kitchen table, Altaïr fast asleep in their room. 

 “Shouldn’t you be resting with him?” Umar asks, beginning to put away what he had bought. 

“I wanted to ask you something.”

If Umar finds this ominous, he doesn’t show it, just puts down the basket of eggs he was going to place in the cabinet. He takes the seat next to Edward, tilting his head. “Alright, you can ask me anything.”

“You want Altaïr to learn Arabic, don’t you?”

The question catches Umar off-guard, the alpha blinking a couple of times. “What brought this up?”

“I don’t know, I just - Jaysus, somehow it just clicked in my head that its your first language? And it doesn’t seem right if your son learns Spanish and English but not his father’s language?”

"I'll be honest and say I hadn't thought of it like that," Umar finally says. "I was thinking it's an advantage for him to know as much as possible about the world. He's an omega in a world run by alphas, he needs everything he can to be able to succeed. I have been away from home so long, it has been a long time since I identified as such. I am an Assassin first and foremost.

"But," he continues, a small smile on his face, "hearing you say that reminds me of everything I loved about my home. The people there, the traditions. Of course I want him to understand where he comes from, when it's put like that." 

"Could you teach me it then? Or find someone to? I want to understand him in whatever language he speaks."

"Of course I will teach you, Edward. I would be honored." He touches the back of Edward's neck, rests his forehead against his. 

Arabic lessons turn out to be harder than Edward originally thought, mostly because they have to fit them in between missions and caring for an infant. 

Writing it is harder than speaking it. It's written right to left, forcing Edward to change the way his brain thinks whenever he writes or reads it. He practices while Altaïr naps, and alternates speaking to his son in Arabic and English. 

Learning Spanish had just been a matter of paying attention - he was never formally taught, and had no reason to be because he only needed the basics, and then picked up the rest over time.

Alima continues his lessons when Umar starts taking missions that lead him farther away. He declines any mission that would require of him too much; Al Mualim refuses to believe Umar would really give up the ones that allow him to cause so much change, and tries to force him into taking one before finally relenting and passing it on. Umar refuses to leave for longer than a month, but the missions he does take tend to be more frequent as a result. 

Alima is just as patient as Umar, and Edward has never been more grateful for her presence as she flawlessly teaches him while taking care of Malik without pause. He is nowhere near as graceful as she is, but he manages, repeating phrases after her, practicing writing at her table while the boys sleep. 

Umar is impressed when he returns, praising him on his progress, and soon he can hold entire conversations in Arabic with little struggle. 

Altaïr grows fast. Soon, he starts babbling, which turns into words. (His first word is apple, which he doesn’t even like the taste of. The first half is Spanish, and the second is Arabic, which confuses everyone as he starts crying when he is not given an apple immediately.) He starts crawling, which turns into standing, into walking, then running. 

He switches between languages fluidly, without even realizing he’s done it, and Edward is so grateful he can understand his son no matter the language he speaks. Umar tries, at first, to get Altaïr to stick to one language for everyday use - he doesn’t care which one,  _ just pick one, son _ \- but Altaïr remains oblivious, as young as he is. Malik doesn’t help, doing the same thing at home and becoming even worse with Altaïr. It’s like they’re speaking their own language. 

And it’s not much better when Edward finds himself on a ship bound for the West Indies, leaving his family behind for their own protection. He can only hope that Altaïr is okay, that he’s safe in Spain. 

He tells himself that as his son cries for him, shouting  _ Mama,  _ first in Spanish, then English, and when he doesn’t come back, finally in Arabic, held in his father’s arms as their child watches his mother leave him behind. 


	5. Never to Part, Baby of Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward understands how important the identity of an Assassin is - keep it secret, keep it safe, and above all, make it matter. All of his children benefited from this unspoken rule, given names that would protect them. 
> 
> But names can only do so much. It's up to the person to make their own choices, find their own paths, to solidify their identity and their protection. For a mother, this is difficult to come to terms with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Dumbo's "Baby of Mine" - specifically the Arcade Fire one from the new movie.

Each of his children were named carefully, cautiously, each letter a form of protection for them in a world against them because of their mother. 

Altaïr - a reminder of his days in the West Indies, meeting Umar. He will always be protected by his surname - first he was Ibn-La'Ahad, son of the fiercest Assassin in Spain. Now he's Al-Sayf, husband of the Mentor in Spain, protected by Malik's influence and his own ferocity. 

Ezio - a fighter since birth, his father's name and wealth protected him more than Edward ever could. When it couldn't, Ezio's fists worked just fine. 

Haytham and Connor - Tessa's name shielded them from Templars when they were young. It's Edward's fault they lost her, he should have stepped back; but her name still protects them when they choose to use it, for all that they use Kenway as the Assassins they are. 

Desmond, though, is another story. Edward refused to give him his father's name, but he didn't want to give his infant son Kenway and doom him to a life of renown for being who he was. In the end, he was given Stephenson-Oakley as well, a final act of protection from his wife. Anyone who knew him wouldn't believe Desmond was Tessa’s, and anyone looking at dates would see through it, but legally it's Edward's name so they can do nothing about it. And distancing himself from Kenway one final time makes it easier to protect him. 

He had done everything he could to protect his children. In the end, he succeeded - they're alive, happy, healthy. 

But he couldn't protect them from everything. He couldn't protect Altaïr from seeing his father killed, from watching his best friend's mother suffer a miscarriage that caused her death. 

He couldn't save Ezio's father, his brothers, couldn't save his family name from ruin by Templars. He couldn't protect him from heartbreak and loss.

He couldn't protect Tessa, couldn't give the twins the life they deserved. Grief had broken them apart, and he couldn't bring them back together. Loss had shattered their family, and it was only his children that kept Edward together in the aftermath. Haytham and Connor hadn't had that - had depended on Edward for things he couldn’t give at the time, and turned to the Auditore’s, and Giovanni tried,  _ God, he tried,  _ but there was only so much he could do. 

He couldn't protect Desmond from the sting of not having a father, from the anger and frustration he felt whenever his brothers or nephews spoke of their own. 

He knows, logically, he did the best he could. He always had people to help him, was lucky in his life, but it’s hard to remember that as he looks at what his children endured over the years. Loss, heartbreak, fear, anger. All things he couldn’t prevent, all things that made them the people they are today. 

Desmond is the hardest. He was the one most shielded from danger, but even he was not unaffected. In fact, he was probably the most affected; it wasn’t trauma he suffered from watching a loved one die. It was the trauma of knowing his father never wanted him, never tried to find his son that he knew very likely existed. 

Edward will never forgive William for that. 

He has forgiven Umar - his first husband did everything he could to keep his family safe, and in the end made the ultimate sacrifice to right a wrong. 

Giovanni never once hesitated in taking in Edward and his son, and accepted Ezio as his own without once thinking of his own reputation. Edward can forgive him for bringing Uberto and his Templar friends into their lives - Giovanni did the best he could in a country run by them, with few resources to fight them off. He didn’t know. He trusted Uberto. 

Tessa never did anything wrong, but Edward still feels the heavy grief he felt when his wife died in his arms, with wounds that never should have been inflicted. Her only mistake was not hiding at the time - but that wasn’t her nature. For all her feminine looks, she was an alpha through and through. He can forgive her - he can’t forgive himself for the part he played in her death. 

But William. William was a young man who believed himself better than omegas, than women, and didn’t bother to bear the responsibility that followed his choices. He  _ knew  _ what they were doing - and that didn’t stop him. He only thought of himself. And Edward - he can’t forgive William for that, but he also can’t forgive  _ himself. _ Edward could just as easily locked himself away and dealt with his heat himself - but no. 

It’s no good thinking about this. 

Desmond is outside, hanging clothes to dry, while Edward watches from the window. He’s not quite a young man, still childish in the face, but he’s growing up and Edward feels so proud of him that he doesn’t quite know what to do with the feeling. 

He’s proud of all of them, given the harsh circumstances with which they had grown up, but Desmond had been different than his brothers since the day he had been born - and even now, watching his youngest frown as a sheet nearly flies away in the wind, he knows it’s going to hurt when Desmond finally leaves, strikes out on his own, creates his own life separate from his mother and brothers. 

(Isn’t it a surprise, when, years later, Desmond is still there, with no intentions of leaving.)

Maybe he was so focused on the surname, he didn’t recognize the importance of his youngest’s first name, but now he sees it. He sees it every day, written in the line of his shoulders, the curl of his hands. 

Maybe Desmond is, and will be, okay, even with how he grew up. 

He can only hope so.


	6. All the Storms We Weathered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Society says her family is unacceptable; how could it be, when her husband openly slept with another and claimed the child produced of the union? How could it be, when her husband accepts the other omega into their home, raises their son among her own children? How could it be, when she has failed in her duties as a wife so severely?
> 
> Society doesn't understand her family. Society is wrong about them, but she'll weather the unkind comments, the pitiful looks, all for another moment with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Sunny Sweeney's "Grow Old with Me"

Maria loves all her children equally, and she includes Ezio among them for all that he is not her blood. 

When he was born, and Giovanni claimed him openly, there were whispers behind her as she walked down the street, judgmental looks that she ignored in favor of focusing on her family.  _ How could she let him do such a thing?  _ they say,  _ how can she look so calm while her family falls apart around her? _

It isn’t, though, and that’s what they don’t get. She loves Edward and Ezio, accepted them into her home without hesitation. She was the one who brought the matter to Giovanni, and only because she feared for Edward’s life. And while she will admit that she could have approached someone else - she knows many alphas who were single, and any one of them could have helped Edward - she also knew that any of them would have either left Edward to raise the child alone, or forced him into a marriage that he would never have been comfortable in. 

She does not know the extent of Edward’s past, and knows better than to ask, but she is a smart and empathetic woman. If Giovanni had died and she had been forced to marry another so soon after his death, she would rather have fled Italia than stay. 

She couldn’t let that happen to Edward, not when he is still grieving, and his young son is still adjusting. So she makes a sacrifice - not even a large one, not when she understands Edward’s position so vividly - and asks Giovanni to offer his help to their guest, a man quickly becoming family. 

Giovanni would never have done it if she hadn’t asked him to. He loved her too much, and respected her too much, to ever consider it on his own.  _ That  _ is what their society does not understand. 

To them, they could never have come to a mutual agreement to do what was necessary to help a friend. Their relationship could not possibly have that level of communication; no, the alpha is in charge and the beta or omega meekly obeys. That is the way of things. 

It is known that alphas seek company elsewhere, and cannot be faulted for it. Instead, the fault lies with their partner, who is obviously driving them away, doing something to displease their alpha. 

She can ignore the rumors easier than her family can. Giovanni rants about the society they live in, the unfair standards that he can do very little to change. Edward looks at her with guilty eyes, doing everything he can to make up for the sacrifice she has made for him. Ezio, when he is older, starts fights as easily as he breathes, so incredibly protective of his family that it moves her to tears on the bad days where the words  _ do  _ start to get to her. 

Her reputation is ruined, truly, but she doesn’t care most days because she is happy with the people she loves. 

Maria loves her children. Her first-born, sour-faced Federico; her darling girl, fierce Claudia; sweet, young Petruccio, her baby; and Ezio, the hot-headed boy who calls her Zia Maria and brings her fresh tomatoes from the garden and picks pretty flowers to gift her with. 

And that love fills her even as she is annoyed when Ezio comes barreling in, a bruised cheek and bloody knuckles, looking sheepish when he runs into her. Her cup of tea - finally the appropriate temperature - clinks against the saucer as she puts it on the table. 

“Ezio,” she says, a warning glimmer in her eyes, and he breaks. 

“ _ Mi dispiace,  _ Zia Maria, I’m sorry - he insulted Mamma and then you and I tried, I really did - “ His hands rise with gestures that hurt based on the wince he forms when he jerks too hard, flakes of dried blood fluttering to the floor. 

“You were supposed to be with your mother,  _ mio caro,” _ Maria reminds him, standing and beckoning him to follow her to the kitchen. 

“I was - Mamma wanted me to drop something off for Papà and I ran into the other boys on the way home.” Ezio sits when she tells him, watching as she finds a clean cloth and a bowl of water. He grimaces as she grabs his hands to wipe them, checking the damage. 

“You must stop this, Ezio,” Maria murmurs. “Fighting will only do so much. It is not the answer.”

“I’ll stop when they do,” he mutters, trying to cross his arms and forgetting she is holding one of them. 

She gives up - he won’t stop fighting; all they can do is clean him up afterwards. They’ve all tried to talk him down, coax him away from using his fists, but he’s too headstrong and protective for any of their words to sink through. She bandages his hands, then cups his chin. 

“You are a wonderful child, Ezio, and for all that we wish you did not fight so, we will always love you,  _ bambino _ . Do not forget that. Now go to your mother, he will try and set you straight. Perhaps this time he will be successful.”

He nods, kisses her cheek gently, and she watches him go.

How could she not love him as if he was her own? She has seen him grow, become a second mother to him, and they expect her to shun him? To drive him from her home, to forbid him from playing with his siblings and seeing his father? What good person could do that to a child?

Polite society is backed by vicious rumors, harsh gossip, betrayals that cut deep to the heart. Alphas spin tales of beautiful lives, webs that glimmer and shine in the sunlight to capture the gaze of a beta or omega of good standing, and it isn’t until they’re married that the beauty wears off and reality traps the poor omega or beta. Omegas and betas smile to their friend’s face and spit on them once their back is turned, every ugly thing they’ve ever thought drawn out of them like poison from the wound. Each side becomes bitter, angry, and polite society becomes disgusting. They find relief where they can, and destroy everything they’ve ever had in the process. 

Maria is grateful that she can avoid most of that. Giovanni cannot separate from society entirely, but they have far less events to attend, less people to impress; their name does the hard work for them, thanks to generations of Auditores laying the foundation. Short of a truly heinous crime, their position in society is practically woven into the fabric of Firenze, impossible to separate. 

Maria Auditore da Firenze cannot walk down the street without murmurs and stares; but Giovanni Auditores da Firenze can, and does, and while she wishes Firenze was more understanding, she has accepted it. And she will endure it for as long as she must, because it means she did the right thing by helping Edward. 


	7. Gone by Morning Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night Caroline meets Edward is the first time she ever rebels against her parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are slight mentions of rape in this chapter- the word is never said, but it's implied, so if you wish, skip from "They seem to realize her blunder" down to "She nearly closes her eyes" and you'll be safe.
> 
> Title from Carrie Underwood's "Get Out of This Town"

Caroline knows she grew up sheltered. She does not know how to hold a sword, cannot shoot a pistol - her parents so desperately wanted a son, an alpha to follow in her father’s footsteps, and a female alpha was barely better than being an omega. She was denied even the most basic of teaching to her alpha instincts, and on a good day she barely understands what her body was telling her.

She has always worn dresses, been gifted with gold and jewels. Her hands are soft, callous-free, and she was educated as if she was a beta. She is not meant to take her father’s place - no, she is to marry a well-bred omega and provide the male alpha heir her father is lacking. That is her purpose in life. It has been so since the day she drew her first breath, screamed her displeasure into the world, and it was announced she was female and alpha.

The night she meets Edward is her one night of rebellion. Every day that passes, the closer she is to marriage and a lackluster life without any useful skills. What use is a musical gift when she cannot close a business deal? What use is a decorative sword on her wall, when she cannot wield it? Her children will not respect her - how could they, when she herself does not?

She feels like a precious jewel, set aside in a safe place and taken out only for the most special of occasions. 

She sneaks out after dark, citing a headache that allows her to take the rest of the night to herself. She waits until she can hear her father’s snores, then slips out the door, boots in hand as she tiptoes down the hall and out the front door. 

She pauses to lace her boots, then sets out to explore the city she barely recognizes. 

Caroline wanders, taking in dark storefronts, sparkling windows transforming to grime and gloom the further away from home she gets. She doesn’t realize how far she’s gotten at first, distracted as she is by the people who are still awake at this time. 

She’s passing a tavern when the doors are suddenly thrown open, a group of rowdy, drunk alphas tumbling out, faces red with drink and anger. They ignore her at first, and then one spots the swish of her dress as she keeps walking and the whole group approaches her. They don’t seem to realize she is an alpha - how could they, when she isn’t dressed like one and the scent of sewage and garbage and vomit cover all others?

“‘Ey there, little lady, what you doin’ here at this time a night?” The biggest one leans close, mouth wide in a mockery of a smile. She steps back, forcing her face to remain smooth as marble to hide the surge of fear. 

“Just getting a breath of fresh air,” she says, and immediately regrets it because who in their right mind chooses the dirtiest part of the city for  _ fresh air?  _

They seem to realize her blunder, grins widening and lust entering bloodshot eyes. There’s four of them, and she would be lucky in a one-on-one fight, there’s no way she’ll survive against four grown-alphas.

They’ll rip her apart, tear her to shreds, and all she can think is -  _ if only Mother and Father had raised me as an alpha, this wouldn’t have happened. If only I had bothered to learn to protect myself, if only I hadn’t walked so far, if only, if only, if only.  _

She nearly closes her eyes and accepts her fate right then and there - but at the last second another man pushes his way in between her and them, his back solid against her front, and any other day she would step back and chastise him about propriety but today - she will deny that she nearly grabs his shoulder and presses closer to him. 

“I know a smart group of men like you aren’t going to do what I think you are,” he says calmly, with a hint of a Welsh accent; but she can feel how stiff he holds himself. He’s prepared for a fight. He’s - an omega? For once, she trusts her nose over her eyes, and a second breath confirms it.

The alphas only barely hesitate at the appearance of the man, and they keep approaching. The man sighs audibly, then swings an arm and lands a punch square in the biggest one’s face. There’s a crunch, blood spurting as his nose breaks, and the sudden stillness is a shock as everyone registers what has just occured. 

The man turns to her, grabbing her wrist, and she can barely take a look at his face before he’s yelling for her to run and dragging her away. Terror makes her listen, shocks her feet into following his, and soon they’re tearing down the street as fast as they can, quickly outrunning the drunk alphas fueled by rage.

Finally they slow to a stop, several blocks away from the tavern, and he drops her arm and she nearly falls against the wall, not caring for the grime that clings to the bricks. She gasps for breath, never having run so hard in her life, and the man pants for only a little while before he recovers his breath and studies her. 

“You’re not from here, miss,” he says. “Don’t you know better than to walk around at night unprotected?”

“I didn’t mean to walk so far,” she admits quietly. “I wasn’t paying attention. It won’t happen again.”

He takes a long second to think, before finally nodding. “Edward,” he offers. He doesn’t try and shake her hand - there’s no way he doesn’t realize what she is. 

“Caroline,” she says in return. She does not give her family name. She doesn’t want to think of them right now. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.”

“It’s nothing. Anyone else would have done the same thing.” He shrugs, looking uncomfortable. 

“How can I ever repay you? I can - I can pay you,” she says. “Or - I have jewelry you can sell?” 

“I could never take that,” Edward frowns, shaking his head, “I don’t deserve it.”

“How does an omega learn to fight like that?” she wonders. 

“How does an alpha not?” he counters. 

She smiles. “If you will not take my money, take my gratitude, and allow me to treat you to a meal as thanks. I cannot let such a good deed go unrewarded.”

Edward stares at her, considering, and finally relents. “One meal,” he says. “That is all.”

“Meet me at the park tomorrow afternoon,” she says, gesturing behind him. “I’ll thank you properly then.”

He watches until she turns the corner, walking away from him and back towards home, and she hides a smile until she can no longer see him. She’s fascinated - and something tells her he feels the same about her.


	8. Collection of Letters - Edward and Linette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of letters spanning the years from Edward's life as a privateer to Linette's death in 1738, demonstrating the lies Edward told and the line he walked to keep his mother involved in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I cannot explain where this came from. All I can say is several weeks ago I was overtaken by the urge to write this and spent many, many hours writing this in a marathon that kept evolving over several days. It was a challenge to figure out specific dates - I only had years from the original story, but I am fairly happy with how it turned out. I am still not sure if I want to keep this here, or post it as a separate story in the series, because it is so incredibly different from everything else I'm not sure if it fits in here but for now it will be here. Absolutely no one asked for this, and I don't even know if anyone will like it, but I'm posting this anyways so I will stop thinking about it. 
> 
> Each letter is prefaced by the place being written to, the date, and then the person being written to. There are a few letters placed in brackets - [ ] - these are letters that were written, but never sent. 
> 
> Warnings for: mentions of character death, miscarriage, infant death

Kingston, Jamaica

April 23, 1711

 

_ Dearest Edward,  _

_ I hope this letter reaches you well.  I have no clue when you are supposed to arrive, but I am sure you will receive this long after you have docked.  _

_ Your father is doing well in your absence. He has turned to a young beta boy named Thomas to run to town for him, allowing me to keep my focus on the books and for him to focus on the sheep. He doesn’t speak of you, but I can tell when he forgets himself and looks for you to do a task. He will adjust; we both will.  _

_ What are the West Indies like? Warm, I would hope; the morning chill still clings to the air some days here. What I wouldn’t give for the warmth of summer!  _

_ Please write back when you can; I am still your mother, and I will worry from across the world without news of your wellbeing.  _

_ With love,  _

_ Mother _

 

///

London, England

May 20, 1711

 

Mother, 

I received your letter soon after I arrived. It is warm here, almost unbearably so; the water is a shade of blue I have never before seen in my life. Unfortunately we do not have time to enjoy the view, with our ship set to leave within the week. I will spare you the details; I know you would rather not know the purpose of our departure. 

Know that I am safe, and feel better than I have in a long time. This will be good for me, Mother. If you need help with money, I will send what I can; just keep me informed.  Tell Father hello from

Do you mean Mary Albert’s son Thomas? I wouldn’t say he’s a boy anymore; he’s barely younger than I am. He’ll do good work, though, so I’m glad someone is helping you. 

I don’t know when I will write next; I promise I will write when I can to ease your mind. 

Edward Kenway

 

///

Kingston, Jamaica

November 14, 1711

 

_ My son,  _

_ It is with a sad heart that I write to you now; Caroline Scott married last week. It is a good marriage, one her parents are happy with. I do not believe she is happy, though.  _

_ I cannot say for certain, of course, as I have not spoken with her, but I saw her after the wedding and she did not look the happy wife one would expect. It has been months since your departure, but I believe a part of her still misses you. I so wish you could have worked it out between you, but perhaps it was for the best. I do not know.  _

_ I only wanted to warn you, in case you should come home and try and seek her out. I haven’t heard from you in weeks, but I assume you are hard at work and just cannot write at the moment. Write to me when you can, and I will pray for you until you return to me safely.  _

_ With love,  _

_ Mother _

 

///

London, England

December 25, 1711

 

Mother, 

Happy Christmas, Mother. We are finally on land for a decent amount of time, and the men are eager to write to their loved ones and have a rest. 

I received your last letter and wanted to assure you I am fine with Caroline’s marriage. It is unfortunate that she does not seem happy, but I am content with my life as it is. I am exactly where I want to be, I promise. Besides, I have met plenty of interesting people in my travels and have learned quite a bit. That would never have happened had I stayed at home. 

Thank you for telling me, though. It is good to know.

Edward Kenway

 

///

Kingston, Jamaica

February 6, 1712

 

_Edward,_ _  
__There have been rumors of piracy in the West Indies, of former privateers turning to that unsavory life. No names have been mentioned, and even the rumors are barely circulating, but I could not sleep at the thought._

_ My only son, raised a good Christian, killing without reason, stealing from good men! I shudder at the thought. Tell me it is impossible, to soothe my heart. I could not bear it if you had.  _

_ I will try to put the thought from my head, to pray for answers until your response finds me.  _

_ Mother _

 

///

London, England

April 13, 1712

 

Mother, 

You have no reason to fear; I have killed no one who did not deserve it, and stolen nothing from good men. Those Christian ideals are still rattling around in my head, all these years later. I am off tomorrow for Havana; I have been before, and have an address below for you to send me letters if you so desire. I will receive anything you send from either address you have; the only difference would be the time it takes to find me. 

Edward Kenway

 

///

[London, England

June 10, 1712

 

Mother, 

I messed up. I’m so sorry. 

I’m pregnant. 

You are to be a grandmother. 

Edward]

 

///

Kingston, Jamaica

October 15, 1712

 

_ My dearest son,  _

_ I have not heard news from you in months. I know in my heart you are not dead, for we would have been informed, but I cannot help but think something has happened for you not to write.  _

_ Your father is busy with the sheep and the farm, and cannot assuage my fears. We have heard nothing on the war, only that negotiations are to be taking place. Individual men are not important enough to make the paper.  _

_ Please write to say you are well. I fear the worst without your letters to persuade me otherwise.  _

_ With all my love,  _

_ Mother _

///

Havana, Cuba

December 16, 1712

 

_ Edward,  _

_ I have not heard from you since your last letter sent in April. I decided to try this address in Havana, in case you had been stationed there for longer than you believed. I am fretful with worry; even your father believes something is wrong now.  _

_ Please write me soon. I will pray for your safety.  _

_ With all my love,  _

_ Mother _

 

///

Havana, Cuba

March 10, 1713

 

_Dearest Edward,_ _  
__It is your birthday today. It is hard to believe only twenty years ago you blessed us with your birth._

_ I have not heard from you in nearly a year. There is no news from the West Indies. I have to believe you are still alive, and are just not in Havana or Kingston to receive my letters.  _

_ I beg you to write me.  _

_ With all my love,  _

_ Mother _

 

///

[Havana, Cuba

March 10, 1714

 

_ Edward,  _

_ You are twenty-one today. I have not heard from you in two years. I am beginning to lose hope that you are still alive. Perhaps you were lost at sea, and none realized; perhaps you were lost in the jungle, never to be seen again. Or perhaps nothing happened to you at all, and you truly have been so busy you have barely stepped foot on land long enough to write your poor mother.  _

_ Your father won’t speak of you, as if you never existed. It is his way of coping, I expect, for I see him staring into the distance often.  _

_ I am wracked with worry. All I can do is hope and pray for your safe return to me.  _

_ Mother] _

 

///

London, England

February 20, 1715

 

Mother, 

I apologize greatly for my great delay in writing. The end of the war has left us rattled, unsure of our direction in life. It is difficult for men to find passage home, and many of them have turned to piracy. It is expensive, and while privateering paid well it is not enough for many to afford it. 

I have decided to stay here a while longer, pick up some odd jobs until the homeward rush has died down. I had spent the longest time in Haiti and had forgotten to send the address to you. I promise to write again soon. 

Your son,

Edward Kenway

 

///

Havana, Cuba

April 29, 1715

 

_Edward,_ _  
__Oh, the relief I felt upon receiving your letter! I did not realize Haiti was a place privateers spent much time in, but as long as you’re safe you could have been anywhere for the care I have._

_The end of the war has brought a wave of men home, and while I had hoped you would be among them I understand why you have stayed. Your father is not so happy, and believes your intentions are not so pure._ _  
__You see, with the incoming men have also been names of those who turned to piracy. One man said you had done so, and while I don’t believe it for a second, your father has taken it to heart. He says no son of his will be a pirate, and disowned you the second the words left the man’s lips. Surely you can clear this up, and he will forgive you once you say you are still the Christian son we raised._

_ Warmest regards,  _

_ Mother _

 

///

Havana, Cuba

December 20, 1716

 

_ Edward,  _

_ Neither of us have written in such a long time, I regret that this time it is with sorrow in my heart. Your father passed on last night, and it is only now I have been able to sit and write the words. He had fallen sick with a harsh cough some time ago, and never quite recovered from it. It took a bad turn a few nights ago, and the doctor could do nothing to cure him. The funeral will be this weekend, though by the time this will reach you it will have long ended.  _

_ He may have disowned you, but you are still his son. You had a right to know.  _

_ With love,  _

_ Your Mother _

 

///

London, England

January 25, 1717

 

Mother, 

I have just now received the news about Father. I am so sorry I was not there for you. I don’t have much time, as I am in the middle of a job, but I have enclosed some money to tide you over. I hope you are doing well enough in the aftermath of his loss. I will write again when I can. 

Edward 

 

///

Havana, Cuba

February 27, 1717

 

_ Edward,  _

_ I cannot accept your money. I am doing just fine on my own; I had to sell the sheep to pay for funeral costs, but I have found a job at the tavern that pays well enough. Keep your money, son, and use it to pay for your trip home, whenever that will be.  _

_ Mother _

 

///

London, England

November 6, 1719

 

Mother, 

I haven’t been fully truthful to you. 

While down here, I met someone and married him, and we have a son who will be seven in the next year. I felt I couldn’t tell you the truth of why I couldn’t come home, and kept giving excuses instead of sharing the truth. 

I knew you would want us to come back to England, but he has never stepped foot in the country and his business required him to stay in the West Indies the past years. It is only now that he is able to leave, and he wants to return to his home in Spain (although, before you ask, he is not Spanish. He only takes residence there). 

I understand if this is enough for you to cut all contact with me, but I needed to tell you. My son, Altaïr, is old enough he may want to write you himself, and I had no good reason to keep him from you in the first place. 

I have enclosed an address for you to reach us in Spain. If you choose to write me again, send your next letter there; we are leaving for Spain day after next. 

Your son, 

Edward Ibn-La’Ahad

 

///

Jaén, Spain

December 12, 1719

 

_ Edward,  _

_ Oh, I am so happy for you! I understand your sparse writing these past few years; marriage and motherhood have kept you busy, no doubt, and even more so if you had any hand in helping your husband with his business. You must tell me about him, and my dear grandson - Altaïr is a rather unique name, not one I would have expected you to choose for your child. I am sure it has some important meaning for you to pick it.  _

_ How is Spain? I cannot believe you will be living there, but I am happy you are doing what is best for your family. I am fine by myself, don’t you worry about me.  _

_ I eagerly await your next letter. _

_ Give my love to your family,  _

_ Mother _

 

///

London, England

January 15, 1720

 

Mother, 

We have settled in nicely in my husband’s old home. He - Umar is his name - has much to take care of, so he is often away, but Altaïr is quite happy and has made friends with a neighboring family, old friends of Umar’s. They have two children - Malik and Kadar - the first being Altaïr’s age and the second being several years younger. 

Umar was born in the Ottoman Empire, you have probably guessed from his name. He moved to Spain years ago with a mentor of his to set up a new business, and from there was sent to the West Indies to continue the growth. He is the one who chose Altaïr’s name - he says it means “flying eagle” in his native language, and I have to admit it is incredibly fitting for this child. He loves to climb anything we let him, and if he had wings I have no doubt he would use them more often than his legs. 

I would write more, but even now I can see him trying to climb the too-tall tree in the yard and I fear he’ll fall, so I must go check on him. I’ll write again soon. 

Edward

 

///

Jaén, Spain

August 22, 1721

 

_ Edward,  _

_ Life has been so busy, I have forgotten to write! I must ask how everyone is.  _

_ There has been no news, good or bad, from you, so I must assume you are just as busy with life as I am. Have you spoken with Umar about any more children? I remember you saying you would have only one when you were young; now that you have one, are you of the same mindset? Is he? _

_ You remember Thomas, the boy helping us on the farm when you left? He married last week, to a nice young girl from the other side of town. I’m not sure you ever met her - her name is Amelia - but they make such a good match. I helped his mother with the preparations, and she was so excited. She had been worried Thomas would never find someone, and she fears every day is her last and could not bear to leave him without someone to take care of him.  _

_ I feel the same as her, and am endlessly grateful that you have found someone to take care of you, and for you to take care of in turn.  _

_ With all my love,  _

_ Mother _

 

//

London, England

September 20, 1721

 

Mother, 

I can safely say we have discussed more children and have unanimously decided not to try for more, or at the very least wait. If one shall come we would not be opposed to it, but Altaïr is a handful as it is and Umar and I are both incredibly busy with business. Umar is often away for weeks at a time, and I have my hands full with Altaïr and his friends on top of keeping the house from falling apart. 

Give my congratulations to the happy couple. You’re right, I don’t think I ever met Amelia, but I remember Thomas well. It’s hard to believe that he’s married - but then again, sometimes it’s hard to believe I’m married. It’s strange how life works out for people. 

I imagine it’s getting cooler there. It’s been so long I barely remember what the autumn so far north is like. I have to admit, there’s a part of me that misses it, but I will freely admit that I do not miss the bitter cold. 

I know you said you’re fine, and you’re making enough money, but please let me know if you ever need anything. We may not have much, but we have enough to send you money if you need it. You’re the only one I have left back home, and I don’t know what I would do without you keeping me updated.

Your son, 

Edward Ibn-La’Ahad

///

London, England

September 5, 1722

 

Mother,   
I am writing you with a heavy heart. Do you remember me writing of Alima, Malik and Kadar’s mother? She was pregnant with her third child, but something went wrong and she suffered a miscarriage in front of the boys and died shortly after. As I write, Altaïr and her two boys are sleeping in Altaïr’s bed. Umar and I are keeping them here until their father can clean the house and prepare funeral arrangements. 

She is not the first friend I have lost to childbirth, but I swear it has to be the last, because the heartbreak on her boys’ faces is enough to break my own heart. I’m not sure I can handle another loss like this. 

Have you ever felt like this, Mother? I cannot remember you ever speaking of it, but surely you must have. 

Your son, 

Edward Ibn-La’Ahad

 

///

Jaén, Spain

October 12, 1722

_ Edward,  _

_ I am so sorry to hear about Alima. I have lost many friends to the same thing - you wouldn’t remember them, you were only a baby and we still lived in Wales. It’s an awful fact of life that I learned to accept over time, but each loss hurt, and even now I feel that pain.  _

_ You mentioned she was not the first friend you had lost. I had hoped you would never have to endure such a thing in your lifetime, but some things don’t change and childbirth and pregnancy seems to be one of those. I am sending all my love to you and Alima’s family and if you need absolutely anything let me know.  _

_ Warmest regards,  _

_ Mother _

 

///

London, England

March 15, 1723

 

Mother, 

The boys are driving me insane. Malik and Altaïr seem to have made it their personal mission to give me a heart attack with the way they act. Chasing each other up trees, through the streets, climbing the roof - you would never believe they had manners by the way they act. And Kadar, sweet boy that he is, wants nothing more than to follow his brother everywhere he goes. 

I sincerely apologize for any terror I may have caused in your heart when I was young. I understand what it does to a mother now. 

Your son, 

Edward Ibn-La’Ahad

 

///

Jaén, Spain

April 20, 1723

 

_ Edward,  _

_ You were actually a very well-behaved child. It wasn’t until you were old enough to wander the town that you became trouble. Altaïr is approaching that same age - it is no surprise to me that you are now feeling the same frustrations I once felt with you.  _

_ Children are just like that. They have energy, they are curious, and with you watching three consistently it’s no wonder that you feel exhausted chasing them around. That just shows you the care you put into their lives. A bad mother would let them climb the roof, chase each other everywhere, with the threat of breaking their necks. You don’t forbid it - but you do watch them with the eye of a hawk, aware you cannot stop them from being hurt but willing to try.  _

_ I am proud of the person you have become. Your letters have shown me how much you have changed over the years - it has been so long since I have seen your face, but I can picture you so clearly. You were right, all those years ago; the West Indies were good for you in ways we never could have expected.  _

_ With all my love,  _

_ Mother _

///

London, England

August 15th, 1724

 

Mother, 

I don’t have much time. This letter must go out as quickly as possible, but you need to know what has occurred. 

There was a break in while Altaïr and I were out. Umar was alone, checking the stores, and the robbers met resistance from him. They overpowered him and killed him. I am terrified and don’t know what to do, but Umar had a friend in Italy that will help us. I will take Altaïr and go to him and send another letter when I arrive. Don’t respond to this letter - I will probably not receive it. 

Edward

 

///

London, England

October 1, 1724

 

Mother, 

We are finally settled in. We arrived not long ago, and Altaïr is shaken but slowly on the way to recovering. We are both terrified after losing Umar so quickly and violently. 

Umar’s friend is named Giovanni. A good man, married with a son, they took us in without hesitation. He has readily offered to provide anything we may need, including passage to England should we desire it. For now, however, I think we will stay here until I’m sure it’s safe, for more than one reason. I learned recently I was pregnant again, and I will not travel so soon after this discovery. 

I’ll write again soon. Altaïr has taken up Italian and I’m inclined to join him in his lessons as a way to occupy my mind from the darker thoughts that haunt me. The address to write back is enclosed below for you.

Edward Ibn-La’Ahad

 

///

Florence, Italy

November 5, 1724

 

_ Edward, _

_ Oh, so much has happened in such a short time! Tragedy and blessing so close together - my heart weeps for your loss as loudly as I did upon receiving your first letter. _

_ The weeks waiting for your next letter took their toll - I feared the worst the longer I went without news, and I am so grateful you are both safe now. Giovanni is a good man, indeed, to provide for you so quickly and offer his services so readily. I admit I wish you would come home, but I understand fear driving you at the moment. You do what you must to keep yourself and your son safe, and should you ever decide to come home I will be here for you.  _

_ With love,  _

_ Mother _

 

///

London, England

 

Mother,

You are a grandmother once again. Ezio was born only a few days ago, although there was a moment we believed he wouldn’t make it. The idea of losing him, even days after the occurence, is enough to send terror through my heart. 

He is very lively now, far different from Altaïr as an infant. Altaïr was quiet; Ezio is not. I spend much of my time with him to keep him from disturbing Federico, for if Ezio starts, Federico will follow and undoubtedly cause insanity among both Maria and I.

I will write again once I am in a clearer mindset. I had not anticipated the events of this past year, and even months after his death I feel Umar’s absence. I did not think it would be so hard. 

Edward

 

///

Florence, Italy

August 15, 1725

 

_ Edward,  _

_ I am thankful you and the child are both well. I also grant you all the time you could ever need - it is clear to me that you are in a very troubled mindset right now. You didn’t date your last letter; this is the greatest sign to me that you are still recovering.  _

_ I am grateful you are not alone at this time in your life, and that Maria and Giovanni are with you. You need someone around you, whether you realize it or not. Focus on what remains of you family, and I will be waiting for whatever you decide your future holds. _

_ Ezio is an interesting name. Surely it has some meaning behind just as Altaïr’s does. Did you choose it yourself?  _

_ Give my love to my grandchildren,  _

_ Mother _

 

///

London, England

September 17, 1725 

 

Mother, 

I actually did not choose his name. I feared the worst the entire pregnancy and never stopped to think of a name. Giovanni and Maria gave me suggestions, and I had been so grateful to them for all their help I thought it was a good thing to share it with them. They are the greatest help I could ever ask for. 

Edward

 

///

London, England

December 25, 1728

 

Mother, 

First of all happy Christmas. You’ll receive this long after the day is over but I thought it appropriate. 

Second I have some good news for you. Altaïr is at the age where he is anxious to return to Spain and his father’s business. Family friends have kept it in good condition these last few years, but Altaïr fears losing it anyways. I know him too well - he is my son after all, and takes after me far too much - and I know if I should forbid him from returning, he shall just do it anyways. Better to give permission and know where he is then try to lock him in his room. 

Once he is there the chances of him ever seeing you and England are slim to none. You deserve to meet your grandson, and he should meet the only grandparent he has at least once in his lifetime before it’s too late. Ezio will, of course, come with us as well.

I have asked Giovanni to help me coordinate a trip to visit you, and have a ship from there bring Altaïr back to Spain. We’ll be there several weeks, and if you feel you don’t have the space we can easily find another place to stay, but it has been far too long and I feel this is something that needs to be done. 

Your son, 

Edward

 

///

[Florence, Italy

January 20, 1729

 

Edward,

Oh, I am so excited to see you again! It has been far too long. And the thought of seeing both my grandchildren for the first time is thrilling. I wouldn’t dream of having you stay anywhere but with me - I need to soak up all my time with you before Altaïr leaves!

I won’t send this letter because you won’t receive it at all. But I had to get my thoughts on paper so I can focus on the house and work before you arrive.

With love, 

Mother]

 ///

Florence, Italy

June 30, 1729

 

_ Edward,  _

_ I admit I still do not understand why you went to Italy instead of settling in London, but it was so nice seeing you after so long without I won’t spoil the memories by arguing the point any further.  _

_ Seeing you with Tessa and how happy she made you brought some youth to these old bones of mine. I am so relieved to know you and your children will be taken care of over in Italy long after I am passed. Not to say you need it - you have done remarkably well on your own, and you had Giovanni and Maria along the way - but it brings me comfort now as I am writing this letter.  _

_ Tessa is a good woman, a good alpha, and I know it will be hard for you both at first. You’ll figure it out. You always do.  _

_ With all my love, _

_ Mother _

 

///

London, England

July 28, 1729

 

Mother, 

Tessa is looking to find work as I write to you. She is determined to make it on her own with no help from others, save myself. Giovanni offered her a job at his bank, but she refused. Even now she is uncomfortable using the Auditore’s generosity to stay in their home, but we don’t have the money yet to move elsewhere so she has learned to accept it.

We are happy here. It is difficult, yes, but we have adapted and Ezio, as always, is a distraction. He constantly demands our attention, and is rapidly becoming more curious and trying to venture outside on his own. He takes up much of my concentration while Tessa is out and she takes over when she arrives home to give me a break. I love him, Mother, but I don’t understand where this energy of his has come from. 

I hope things stay well for you. I know you are happy, but I still didn’t feel comfortable leaving you alone like you are. 

Edward Stephenson-Oakley

 

///

Florence, Italy

August 29, 1729

 

_ Edward, _

_ You have already done too much for me. Save your money for yourself - I need no more of it. My son’s presence in my house was enough for me - I need nothing else for the time being.  _

_ How is Altaïr? Is the business still well now that he has arrived to take back some control? He’s so young but so determined - it’s no wonder to me how he is your son. You were barely older than he when you set out to the West Indies - anyone who doubts his abilities because he is an omega will regret it quickly, I am sure.  _

_ You were active as a child, but perhaps Ezio is more so. Was Umar similar? Perhaps he gets it from his father. Either way you only have to distract him to keep him safe. You worry about him leaving the house - take him out yourself. Show him the city, perhaps, or meet some people with children his age outside of the house.  _

_ Each child is different, as you no doubt have already learned. You just have to figure them out.  _

_ Mother _

 

///

London, England

September 26, 1729

 

Mother, 

Altaïr is well. He’s reconnected with childhood friends and seems to be happy in Spain. You remember Malik? He and his brother are often helping Altaïr with the business, having the benefit of being there for years and involved with it, but Altaïr is quickly learning and on the verge of taking it over completely. 

On unrelated news, Tessa has found a position working finally. In a few months we will have saved enough to move out of the Auditore’s place, and just in time as well. Just recently I learned I am pregnant again, and I am terrified because the Auditore’s have three children and Ezio is with us as well - there is just no more space in this house for another child. We are doing everything to save to get us out quickly. 

This is where I have to thank you for insisting I learn to sew as a child. I believed, at the time, it was a useless skill, but now it has come in handy for we are saving money by avoiding the use of a tailor. 

Wishing you well, 

Edward

 

///

Florence, Italy

October 30, 1729

  
E _ dward,  _

_ Oh, how wonderful! I am so happy for the both of you. And working towards your own house is admirable.  _

_ You must share with Altaïr how proud of him I am. I may have met him only the once, but he is my grandson and I love him. He is doing so well on his own, and so young! It does not surprise me that Malik and Kadar have helped him so readily after how close they were as children. I am glad they are still continuing that friendship even years later.  _

_ Mother _

 

///

London, England

June 20, 1730

 

Mother, 

Only a few days ago the twins were born. Two alpha sons we named Haytham and Connor. 

They look far more like Tessa than they do me. They have her dark hair and eyes, and perhaps my complexion, but at first glance it is hard to see anything of myself in their faces. Ezio is rather taken with them - he has started looking over them protectively, as much as a child his age can. 

They have quickly become adored by all. Giovanni and Maria love them, and have offered to watch them whenever we need, although that time will be far off. It’s unfortunate that it will be some time before you are able to meet them. We cannot travel with them so young and I would hate to force you to come here. 

Edward

 

///

Florence, Italy

July 18, 1730

 

E _ dward,  _

_ Congratulations! I’m so glad you are all safe and healthy. And twins alphas! They are sure to be a handful when they are older. And with Ezio only a few years older?  _

_ I wish you luck when they are adolescents. The three of them will be terrors if they keep a close relationship.  _

_ Children tend to resemble their fathers first. You surely looked the spitting image of your father, and I rarely saw myself in you until you were older and became your own person. You said it yourself - Altaïr and Ezio both resemble their father, you told me. You don’t love them any different, do you?  _

_ Mother _

 

///

London, England

August 10, 1730

 

Mother, 

You are correct in that they all resemble their fathers. You are also correct in that they will be terrors once they are older. 

Tessa and I almost wish they wouldn’t age because we fear dealing with three young alphas at the same time. 

I don’t have much time to write currently but I will be sure to write again soon. 

Edward

 

///

Florence, Italy

May 10, 1732

  
_ Edward,  _

_ It has been some weeks since we have written. We are both busy, however, and I will not address it further.  _

_ Tell me how everyone is. Is Tessa well and still enjoying work? Are the twins keeping you busy? Last you mentioned Ezio was causing you trouble and Giovanni had offered to put him to work, correct? How is that going? _

_ I eagerly await your response. _

_ Mother _

 

///

London, England

June 15, 1732

 

Mother, 

Tessa is quite happy with what she is doing. It gives her time away from the house but she also gets enough time with us that she doesn’t feel guilty for leaving the twins so often. The twins are two terrors in the bodies of toddlers; Haytham and Connor are constantly wandering off when I am not looking and they help each other get in trouble. I thought Ezio was bad at this age - the two of them together are even worse.

Giovanni did offer to keep Ezio busy, yes. He takes Ezio out with him on errands and even Maria has gotten him to help her. It keeps him out of trouble and helps them out when they need an extra pair of hands. 

Altaïr is successful based off his last letter. He’s quickly passing expectations set upon him by the shop owners around him. Malik and Kadar continue to help him as ever. I imagine they will still be at his side for years to come.

I hope you are just as well as we are. The offer is still open - if you ever need anything I will be happy to give it.

Your son,

Edward

 

///

Florence, Italy

February 20, 1733

 

Edward, 

_ Sad news comes to us this week. Thomas Albert and his wife Amelia greeted their third child, a son, only two weeks ago. He was healthy for a time, but it has been a bitterly cold winter and food is scarce for some. I have helped the Albert’s when I can - offered food, gifted blankets, but with two young children and an infant it is not enough. The infant fell sick fairly quickly, and I just received the news today that the child passed yesterday. _

_ I have spent the morning praying for the family but could not help but think of yours. Four healthy children, all thriving as they are, and I am eternally grateful for such. The thought of you enduring something like this sickens me as it does horrify me. No mother should have to endure that in their lifetime.  _ _ I could not endure losing you as I did your sister _

_ Give everyone my love,  _

_ Mother _

 

///

London, England

March 18, 1733

 

Mother, 

Give my regrets to the Albert’s if you think it would help. It is an awful thing to lose a child that way. I know I’ve been lucky in that I haven’t lost any.

The twins have drawn you pictures to help cheer you up. I’ve enclosed them as well as a letter from Ezio. I hope they succeed, and if not, know that you will be the first I write to should anything happen. 

Edward

 

///

London, England

January 10, 1734

 

Mother, 

The new year brings with it new challenges it seems. Ezio has apparently decided this will be the year he fights the world to right its wrongs. He came home last week from a fight with a local boy named Vieri. I can only imagine it will get worse as he ages. 

Tessa and I have tried speaking with him, and even Giovanni and Maria took their turn with him, but he has set his mind to this task and doesn’t seem likely to stop any time soon. I don’t know where he gets this stubbornness from. 

Edward

 

///

Florence, Italy

February 11, 1734

 

_ Edward,  _

_ I could tell you where he gets it from. Do you not remember how stubborn you were as a child? Running around like a wild child, refusing to do your chores. I could go on! _

_ You just have to remember he is a child still. Punish him as you see fit, but perhaps there is another way to get him to stop. You know him best as his mother, you just need to figure out what he needs.  _

_ Mother _

 

///

London, England

May 15, 1735

 

Mother, 

Haytham wanted to write to you wish you a happy birthday. Connor wanted to send you a picture of a horse he drew as a gift for you. 

Happy birthday, Mother. 

Tessa is quite busy with work lately, so it is often just the twins and I during the day. Ezio is spending more time with Giovanni as he becomes more and more desperate for activity in his life. Giovanni has him run errands almost daily and the days he doesn’t Maria or I usually have something for him. The days where he does everything we ask him to he runs off with Federico and gets in to far more trouble than he would if he were alone. 

Maria actually finds him far more helpful than Giovanni does. With Petruccio and Claudia still so young, her hands are often full with the two of them and she has less time to run errands. Ezio is always willing to help her and she adores him for it, possibly just as much as she adores her own children. 

Edward

 

///

Florence, Italy

June 18, 1735

 

_ Edward,  _

_ Give the twins my love. I absolutely adore the picture Connor sent - I have set it on my nightstand where it is kept safe and I can look upon it often. And Haytham’s letter was very well-crafted for his age.  _

_ Perhaps you need to add something to Ezio’s education? I know you mentioned he can speak fluent English, Italian, and Spanish, but perhaps he needs something else to distract him and keep him busy. Is Giovanni still teaching him banking? Perhaps it should become a more regular event in the child’s life.  _

_ Tessa must like her work if she is constantly away from the house. Is she truly happy there? Money isn’t worth being unhappy. If she is content I will let the issue be, but I warn you to be aware of it. Money was so important to you all those years ago, and now you are happy I don’t want you to lose it.  _

_ Maria sounds like an incredible woman. Three children of her own, and still taking Ezio in when you need her to? I know very few women who would do so. You must tell her you appreciate her help for without her and Giovanni you run the risk of going mad. _

_ With love,  _

_ Mother _

 

///

[London, England

August 22, 1736

 

Mother, 

I needed to get my thoughts on paper. Altaïr wrote me explaining his situation and I am just devastated for him. 

I warned him. Umar warned him. But he was young - is still young - and he makes mistakes like any other person. Who could have known how badly it could go? Who could have guessed that so much destruction could occur? 

Kadar is dead, Malik is furious, and Altaïr does not know what to do anymore. So confident, for so long, and now he barely knows who he is. I want nothing more than to go to him, but he is an adult and must figure this out himself. I cannot protect him from everything.

I cannot protect him from himself.

Edward]

 

///

London, England

March 17, 1737

 

Mother, 

Altaïr has written me with exciting news. He is to be married soon, and the children and I will travel to Spain to be there for the wedding. I’m sure you already know who he is marrying, although I will tell you anyways. 

Malik and he wanted me to come as the only parent left. Malik, you remember, lost his mother to a miscarriage, and his father some years later in an accident. Altaïr didn’t feel comfortable marrying without someone there, and the children are excited to take a trip to Spain on his invitation. 

By the time you receive this I will probably be in Spain already. It is to be a short trip, however, and Tessa has elected to remain behind to watch the house and continue working. Any response you send will be collected by her and I will respond appropriately once I return.

Edward

 

///

Florence, Italy

April 20, 1737

 

_ Edward,  _

_ Give my congratulations to the newlyweds! It seems so short a time when I met him for the first time, and now my grandson is married. I can hardly believe it.  _

_ I am surprised Tessa did not come with you, but I suppose it might be best for someone to remain in the house, and her work is perhaps too important for her to leave for such a time.  _

_ Did the children enjoy Spain? The climate is similar to Italy, correct? I imagine it wasn’t much different for them, especially with their firm grasp on the language.You must tell me everything when you can, my dear. I eagerly await your response. _

_ Mother _

 

///

London, England

May 22, 1737

  
Mother, 

I write bearing tragic news. The wedding was beautiful, Altaïr and Malik are happy, and all the children enjoyed the trip. That is not the news. 

We arrived in Florence late at night, and coming to the door I immediately realized something was wrong. It was open, unlocked, and Tessa is too smart a woman to let that happen accidentally. I found her in our bedroom, lying on the floor and approaching death. The house had been broken into and they hadn’t realized she was home at the time. She tried to fight them off and failed, and we came home only minutes after the attackers had fled. 

She only survived a few minutes longer after I found her, and I confess losing her dropped me into a dark place. I cannot imagine living in a world without her, and yet I now live in that reality. 

The twins are not much better. They do not understand the cruelty of the world, and how someone could do such a thing. They miss her terribly. 

Giovanni and Maria have allowed us to stay with them until the house is cleaned up. They have taken charge of everything as I am unable at the moment. I could barely find the words to tell you the events of that night. 

Edward

 

///

Florence, Italy

June 24, 1737

 

_ Edward,  _

_ My hand trembles even now, hours after I first read your letter. Such shameless and senseless violence - can you bring them to justice?  _

_ My heart grieves along with you. Tessa was a wonderful woman, and the thought of her being gone seems quite impossible, but your letter sits in front of me bearing the truth.  _

_ The only advice I can give is focus on your children. Distract yourself from her in any way you can, return to life as close to normal as possible. It will do no good to mourn the rest of your life while the world continues unchanged.  _

_ I am here for you if you need me.  _

_ Mother _

///

London, England

November 29, 1737 

  
Mother, 

Giovanni has connections that did, in fact, lead to the men who broke into the house and killed Tessa. It took time, but they have finally been brought to justice for what they did and I feel slightly better for it. 

I could not put pen to paper until this time because of it. I could not bear to write to you until I knew they were found and punished for their crimes. 

I hope this letter gives you some relief. This was a tragic time for us all, and now there has been justice perhaps we can begin to recover. 

Edward

 

///

Florence, Italy

January 15, 1738

 

Mr. Stephenson-Oakley,

I regret to inform you of the passing of your mother, Linette Kenway. A neighbor, Thomas Albert, found her the morning after she passed nearly a week ago today. It is only now we have found the address to write you of the incident. I feel it important to note that she appeared to pass peacefully, in her sleep, without pain or trauma. 

She left everything in her estate to you, the house included. I can give you further details if and when you respond to this letter. 

If you should like we can discuss the selling of the house and any other possessions you may not have need for. The Albert family has arranged her funeral, to be held tomorrow morning. I have enclosed their address below should you wish to write to them. I have also included the beginnings of a letter from your mother to you. She left it on her table.

Sincerely, 

Mr. Richard Campbell

Attorney-at-Law

 

///

Florence, Italy

January 1, 1738

 

_ Edward,  _

_ I am so relieved her murderers have found justice for their heinous acts. How have the children reacted? Haytham and Connor undoubtedly have been affected by this. Are they taking it well? _

_ And Ezio, how is he? Tessa may not be his father, but for many years he lived with her. Is he taking her loss well? The Auditores are good people to take you in and help you out in the search for Tessa’s murderers. I am so grateful to them for everything they have done for you and your children. What a shame I have never met them before! You must tell them -- _

**Author's Note:**

> If any of you have ideas, feel free to leave me a comment or drop on by my tumblr (vineyard-icicles)! I would love more ideas for this! Thank you for reading and hopefully you enjoyed!


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